


Numb

by AnxiouslyGoing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Autistic Leonard "Bones" McCoy, End of Into Darkness, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxiouslyGoing/pseuds/AnxiouslyGoing
Summary: Leonard had always had a complicated with his hyperempathy. Always feeling things so deeply and strongly as he did could be exhausting. But now, as his best friend lies cold and- not dead, he's not, he's... stable in the cryotube, he finds himself wishing to be able to feel anything beyond the cold numbness in his chest.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Numb

It was ironic. There was no way to deny it. Leonard had spent much of his youth and early days in medicine wishing he could be numb. Wishing that the sight of an injured animal didn't nearly move him to tears, that he could just kill bugs on his own without feeling guilty over it, that he didn't wince in sympathy every time he had to use a hypo on someone.

Hyperempathy could be a beast. 

It wasn't even an all the time thing, but just often enough that it became another thing he needed to be rid of, another "side effect" of his autism. He couldn't fix every animal and there was certainly no way any strays would be allowed in the yard, let alone the house. He was a boy, he needed to get rid of bugs on his own, after all, one day he would have to kill them for his wife. Besides, bugs don't care anyway. No one would trust a doctor that flinched every time he used a hypo. If he reacted that way to a simple needle, how did he ever expect to be a surgeon? Maybe it was best if he just stayed in his father's clinic. 

It had taken time. So much time, but he had learned that hyperempathy could be a good thing. More than once it had led him to a better diagnosis. Patients had requested him on account of his acute attention to their discomforts and complaints. 

It wasn't that it never bothered him, but he became comfortable with it. He learned to use it as a tool.

He no longer wished to be numb. 

Numb was all he could feel as his best friend lie- lie in an ancient piece of technology, frozen in time. 

He could recall the moment he opened the bag and stared down at Jim's too still face. He remembered that he had felt despair. He had felt a great ache that threatened to crush his chest. Here was the man that had done so much for him, had helped him grow and heal. They had both helped one another heal in many ways. But Jim. Jim knew he was screwed up. He knew he needed to heal from old wounds and trauma. Leonard didn't have a clue. Jim had helped him so much. 

And Leonard could do nothing. Nothing but stand over his- his body.

It was easy for him to remember the guilt and helplessness he had felt as he had collapsed in his chair, tears threatening to overwhelm him. 

He could even remember the shock and disbelief, though it only lasted a moment, when he heard the tribble purr. 

The surge of hope that followed as the computer confirmed his suspicions was almost painful. 

But all of that was gone.

There was only an emptiness in his chest. It ached vaguely, but not enough to be noted. 

Leonard scanned his results again. His eyes ached from strain, but he couldn't stop. Not just yet. He was close. He was certain of that. 

He wanted to feel hope. 

He wanted that same sharp ache that had given him the idea in the first place. That had put into his head that maybe, just...maybe he could save Jim. 

But he felt nothing.

He checked the screen once more, and collected his small collection of vials. One should be enough, with how rapidly Khan's cells seemed to regenerate, one should be enough. But that wasn't something Len was ready to risk. 

He wondered if he would be able to feel anything after it was done. 

Dutifully he sent off a discrete message and began toward Jim's hospital room. He was still in the cryotube, but they had an image to keep, and the general public couldn't know how bad Jim's state truly was. 

He walked down the hallway, knowing he should be feeling anxiety, trying to will himself to feel anxious even. After all if this didn't work then- then he would have wasted his time. Jim would still be gone, and he would leave Starfleet after the funeral. 

He wasn't surprised to see that the one who had gotten his message was in the room already. But then again. He couldn't feel anything. 

He gave a small nod of acknowledgment, and set down his med pack. 

Spock's face seemed as passive as Leonard felt. For once he didn't begrudge Spock the look. 

"Open it," he ordered quietly. 

Silent as ever Spock stepped forward and punched in the sequence code. He took a small backward step and folded his hands behind his back and waited. There was a tense energy about him, even if it didn't show on his face. Leonard didn't bother to call him out on it, like he normally might have. The situation didn't call for it. And it was more than he was feeling. 

The glass cleared and the tube chirped. Jim's face was unchanged. 

Wordlessly the men opened the tube and transferred Jim into a proper bed. His skin was cold to the touch. Leonard had never known Jim to be cold, though Jim had often teased him about doctor's should be obligated to have warm hands, not half frozen ones like Len's. 

That joke didn't seem very funny anymore. 

Dr. McCoy scrubbed his hands, and pulled on his gloves. Even his movements, solidifying what was about to happen, what he was about to do, stirred nothing in him. 

Spock was watching him, no doubt it was obvious to him how wrong everything was with him. Under different circumstances, Leonard wondered if Spock might have tried teasing him about it. 

Dutifully, the doctor cleaned a small spot on Jim's neck where the injection was to go. Steady as ever he picked up the hypo. He wondered if he should have been trembling with some emotion as he placed the hypospray, as he had so many, many times, against Jim's neck and pressed down. 

Nothing happened. 

Leonard set the hypo back on the table at his side and waited. 

Waited for something to come across the screen.

Waited to feel something. 

Waited, wondering if he should try another injection. 

The heart monitor pinged and Leonard collapsed to his knees. 

Relief. 

Relief was the only thing he could think of as the monitor continued to beep steadily. 

It had worked. 

He was so beyond relieved. His head was swimming with an almost giddiness. Spock was suddenly at his side, but whatever he was saying was lost on Leonard as he let out a fit off tearful laughter. It worked. It worked and Jim was going to be ok. 

"I believe he would say, 'Good job, Bones,' were he conscious," Spock agreed with an easy smile. 

Len laughed a little more, realizing he had said that last bit aloud. He was relieved and so tired. So tired. 

Spock froze for a moment in surprise when the doctor slumped, still chuckling against his chest. He couldn't imagine the strain Leonard had put himself under these past few days. So he indulged the man, and wrapped his arms around him. He would never hear the end of it, especially if Jim ever found out. But just at the moment, he was fine with that. Jim was going to be ok, that was all that mattered. 

Len didn't even hesitate when he felt Spock pulled him closer, he simply wrapped his arms around the Vulcan and let out a sigh. Some sight they must have been, but Len was ok with that. 

There was still a long road ahead. Jim had a long recovery in front of him, but the fact that there was one at all was more than he could have ever hoped for. 

And he did have hope. Hope that Jim would be well again, excitement to see what would come next. But mostly he was relieved. Relieved that the serum had worked. Relieved that Jim was alive. Relieved that he could feel again. Jim could mock him for hugging Spock all he liked. He didn't care. So long as he never had to feel that numb again. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was written for 2019's Whumptober challenge. I never got around to posting it before so here we are.


End file.
